


Heartstring

by such_heights



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-02
Updated: 2009-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/such_heights/pseuds/such_heights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer after the war, they need wands again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartstring

The summer after the war was cool and grey -- not the oppressive colour of coming storms, but rather a calm, gentle sort of weather, broken occasionally by soft rain or by the sun appearing between the clouds.

Magical London was quiet that summer. Business was slow in Diagon Alley, but almost every shop was open, and workers were there every day, exchanging pleasantries with their neighbours and the customers who did come. A shadow still hung over some establishments -- Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes remained closed with no set reopening date -- but others found new patronage. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour was taken over by a daughter no one knew old Florean had had. Flora was widely regarded as more practical than her father, with a business sense that could actually see the shop turn a profit from time to time, but she had the same warm smile and generous heart that had made the Parlour such a favourite in the past. Though the free portions were fewer now, she had a knack for finding just the right combination of flavours for every customer, every time. "Satisfaction guaranteed!" read a bright new slogan across the shop front, and it was true.

Ollivander looked out over the vista of ordinary life every morning when he arrived. Once, he had lived above his shop, but after everything that had happened, he could only bear the place in daylight hours. Flora always called out a 'good morning' to him as he walked past, and it made it a little easier each day to step over the threshold of his old shop. That, and the knowledge that now there was always someone there to expect him.

***

Luna had first sought him out on the Saturday morning that should have been the start of the summer holidays. She'd gone to his shop and found it closed and vacant, and she'd asked around until she found Ollivander at his rooms in Kensington.

"Miss Lovegood!" Ollivander was startled to receive a visitor at all, much less a familiar face.

"May I come in?" she asked. She held up a brightly-wrapped parcel. "I've brought you a cake."

"I --" Ollivander realised he was staring. "Yes, of course. Come in."

Luna smiled and stepped inside. As she entered, something jingled. At his curious look, she lifted back her hair. Bronze bells hung from her ears.

"Protection from thummercatchers," she said. "They bring bad memories."

Ollivander put the kettle on, and she brought her parcel over. She unwrapped layers of cloth and ribbon until she unveiled the most peculiar cake he'd ever seen. There was sponge somewhere, presumably, but it was buried under half a dozen different icings and glazes, and adorned with everything from preserved fruits to chocolate sprinkles to Every-Flavour Beans, all sculpted into a spiralling shape.

"It's like a spell, you know," said Luna. "Like magic."

"Thank you, this is very kind of you," he said. He poured tea out through a strainer and Luna angled the cake a little on the counter.

"We'll save it for later," she said. "Mr. Ollivander, you're not at your shop."

"Ah," said Ollivander, carrying a tray with teacups, milk and sugar over to the kitchen table. "I did wonder. Have you come to persuade me to go back?"

"Yes," she agreed, spooning sugar into her tea and stirring it carefully - two stirs clockwise, one anti-clockwise. "Your shop looks sad."

He sighed. "Miss Lovegood-- Luna. You must understand."

"I do. You don't like being there, because it's still ruined and it would be a lot of work and you get tired easily now."

"It's not just that, it's--"

"And going back there, and working with wands, and doing all the things you love and which used to make you happy -- you're not sure any more, because you think you've done bad things, that you can't trust yourself." Luna smiled, and patted his arm, and shook her head so that her bells rang out. "We need wands. Please, Mr. Ollivander."

"There will be other wandmakers to take my place. Perhaps it's time for a change."

Luna shook her head. "'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.' You can't stop now. Anyway, I'm going to help you, and learn about wands, and we'll get things ready for the first years."

"First years? Surely Hogwarts won't reopen, not so soon."

"We _won_ , Mr. Ollivander," she said. "Take your victory. You can make wandlore your own again, make wands because you want to, because you do it better than anybody. Besides, I've already found you your first customer."

He sighed. She looked so eager, and he didn't want to disappoint her. "I suppose I ought to tidy the place, at least," he said.

She beamed at him.

***

Their first customer turned out to be Dean Thomas, who was waiting for them at Diagon Alley, a glowing Galleon in hand.

"Mr. Thomas -- ah, you must excuse me, the shop's hardly fit for public consumption."

"Don't worry about it," says Dean. "Hi, Luna."

The two of them talked -- well, it seemed that Luna was going to do most of the talking -- while Ollivander unlocked the shop he thought he'd abandoned for good. It was dusty and disarrayed inside, wands and boxes scattered all over the floor, but it held less dread in its darkness than Ollivander had expected. Memories lingered, but with Luna's laughter in his ear it was easy to set those aside and get to work.

"Now," he said, when the place was organised to his satisfaction. "Let's see what we can find for you." He set his tape measure to work and looked around the shop, relieved to find that now that each wand was returned to its rightful position, his memories of their location remained.  
Luna watched the measurements with interest. When the tape rolled itself back onto the counter, she said, "Something with a dragon core."

"It doesn't quite work like that - it's about the interplay of the different elements, one cannot assign definite qualities to the disparate attributes --"

"Yeah, dragon heartstring sounds cool," said Dean.

Ollivander laughed. Clearly, this was not to be an orthodox day. "Well then, why don't you try -- this." He summoned a 11 ¼ inch mahogany wand and handed it to Dean.

Dean swished it around eagerly, but there was no rush of connection.

"Hmm," said Luna, peering at Dean sideways. He shifted a little awkwardly. "Something more flexible, more artistic."

"Artistic? Oh?"

"Oh yes, Dean paints the most wonderful things."

"I -- well. It's a hobby," said Dean.

"Perhaps a hazel wand -- long, dexterous, give this one a try."

Before long they were embroiled in the familiar flurry of sparks and flying boxes, and Ollivander found himself laughing, something of a first in his line of work. It felt good for wands and magic to be ordinary again, to put the questions of grandeur and power and the Elder wand aside and consider the simple matter of finding the perfect match for a young wizard.

They settled on a 12 ½ inch willow wand, and the core was dragon heartstring.

"Well, Miss Lovegood," said Ollivander, after Dean had left a happy customer, "it appears you have rather a natural talent for wandmaking."

"So will you let me help you?" Luna asked. "I know you don't usually have an assistant, and that you're not used to being with people for long periods of time, but if you stay here all alone you'll feel scared, and it'll be like You Know Who's still here, still winning."

"It would be an honour, Luna," he said simply.

***

  
The summer after the war was cool and grey -- and Luna was the happiest she'd ever been.

Each morning, she woke up, had breakfast with her father and walked down into Ottery St. Catchpole. She passed the Burrow, and depending on the day of the week she might see Molly throwing open the kitchen curtains, or Ginny taking her broom down to the garden, or George sitting quietly on the front step of the house. He would always smile to see her, and Luna would always wave back.

Luna ought to Apparate from her house -- it was a fair walk down to the village, for one thing, and the Apparition point was small and in a room full of commuters with tired eyes waiting for portkeys and their turn at the Floo. Still, Luna took the journey every day, because it was good to see the village wake up in the mornings, Muggles and wizards alike, and it was good to be certain, every day, that there still was peace.

The owner of the local Transportation Office -- it was more of a shed, really, but Luna didn't like to say -- knew her by name, and always called her over.

"How's my favourite working girl?" Madam Hazelmere would ask.

"Very well, thank you," Luna would reply, because she always was.

"You give my best to the folks down in London, won't you?"

"I will."

Madam Hazelmere would grin, record the time in her ledger, and Luna would shut her eyes and spin herself away to Diagon Alley, and an old friend.

***

Business was slow in Diagon Alley, but customers began to multiply. Word spread that Ollivander was back -- a little different, a little changed by the war, but back nonetheless. Word also spread of his new assistant, a peculiar young girl the schoolchildren knew. She was good, it was said, kind and smiling, and she brought new life to the old wand shop. She talked about the war sometimes, to young children who were still frightened or to families who'd lost their loved ones. She was gentle, sympathetic, reassuring -- though full of strange stories, but then, she was Xenophilius Lovegood's daughter -- and boys and girls believed her when she told them not to be afraid.

Ollivander still found it strange, sometimes, to have a constant presence at his side, disrupting his solitude, but he couldn't regret it for a moment. Luna told him marvellous tales, just as she had during their imprisonment, and she was much happier to speak to customers than Ollivander had ever been. Sometimes, she'd take a particular interest, examine the customer very closely, and then make a pronouncement about the wood of the wand, or which core they should have. Ollivander had long since learned to trust her judgement every time.


End file.
